


Maybe in Paris

by GoodJanet



Category: Mad Men
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fantasizing, Floor Sex, Kissing, Office Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 23:28:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3873934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodJanet/pseuds/GoodJanet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roger wants to take Peggy to Paris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe in Paris

**Author's Note:**

> A continuation of the roller-skate scene

She said she wanted a drink for the road, but when Roger points out that she’s already drunk at four o’clock, she rethinks things and knocks them back as quickly as Roger refills her glass.

It’s nearly eight when Roger remembers they still have a closet filled with prototypes of product, including shampoos, chewing gum, fountain pens, and yes, there they are, roller-skates!

“Do you know how?” he asks.

Peggy giggles. She doesn’t even try to hide them.

“Yes!”

She plops herself back down on the overturned trashcan and kicks of her heels, letting them land wherever they chose to land. She sticks out her foot in Roger’s direction.

“If I lean forward, I’ll puke or fall.”

Roger rolls his eyes good-naturedly and laces her up.

“I used to do this for my little girl.”

He helps her stand.

“Well, I’m not so little, and I’m not a girl, now am I?”

Roger smiles.

“You certainly aren’t,” he replies, taking a big drink.

He feels her hand slip from his and she glides beautifully around the empty, trashed office.

“Play me something!” she shouts.

Roger laughs and saunters back to the tiny organ. He starts bashing out “Take Me Out to the Ball Game,” and Peggy gleefully sings along. Neither of them can remember the last time they had this much fun here. It’s been a while, and it’s so freeing to be able to do this.

Eventually though, they wear themselves out and end up lying on the floor in Roger’s office since it’s carpeted and there’s no furniture anywhere except her desk.

They lie side by side, breathing heavily. She was kind of tired from skating, but even more so from Roger deciding to play tag once she’d taken them off. They jumped over garbage and plants and coffee cup, they spun around corners and dodged a broken copy machine until they ended up here. They rest a big in companionable silence until Peggy feels comfortable enough to rest her head on his shoulder. He doesn’t mind. He wraps his arm around her snugly.

“That was fun,” she says contentedly.

And she’s not just talking about tonight.

“It sure was, sweetheart.”

Neither is he.

“It’s a shame it’s ending like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like we’re being tricked. Lulled into a false sense of security, just for them to pull the rug out from under us. Take our work and ideas and business, until none of us from here are left there.”

Roger wishes he had his drink.

“Jesus, that’s morbid.”

“I’m sorry.”

She turns onto her side to face him. His arm slips between the space where she’s propping up her head and snakes down her back. He’s wise enough to not grab her ass, though she’s not sure she’d stop him this time, given how much Vermouth she’s had today.

“Do you really think that?” Roger asks.

“I’d like to think not. It’s hard to say for sure since I didn’t even have an office there until a few hours ago.”

“Shit.”

It’s just hitting him now, for some reason. Peggy was amazing, and if _she_ was having trouble, well, how did that bode for the rest of them?

“Now it’s just a waiting game.”

There’s not much else she has to say, so she lowers herself back down, and cuddles close. Vermouth always makes her feel the need to be held and to hold. And Roger’s not too bad of an option. He has his flaws, but he’s been good to her.

He doesn’t know how to respond. His head is reeling from the drink and running and thinking about the future. He doesn’t know what to think. Instead, he says the first thing that comes out of his mouth:

“Let’s run away.”

“What?”

“You and me. We can get out of here. We can go anywhere that you want. Somewhere tropical. Or Paris. I’ve heard you want to go to Paris. We can settle in the countryside, and everyone will think I’m your doting father. Or we’ll get married at Notre Dame and raise a huge family of Jacques and Jeans. Wouldn’t that be something?”

“Are you listening to yourself?”

“Doesn’t it sound nice though?” Roger slurs.

It’s absurd, to be perfectly truthful, but she doesn’t mind. She’s always liked listening to Roger talk and spin his yarns. This is a night of “lasts,” so she gives him a pass.

“What would do there?”

 

“We’d do some touring, of course, and take lessons in French. I’ve been trying to learn a few new phrases anyway. But touring would become tiresome after a while, so we’d find a little chateau. Beautiful scenery, honey. You really would love it,” Roger says, smiling at her and getting one back before continuing. “I supposed we’d find jobs somewhere. I’ve always wanted to be a fisherman. Navy teaches you a lot about finding your own dinner. What would you do?”

“Me? I—well, I guess I’d be a writer. Journalism maybe. I’d want to work with nonfiction. The world is full of too many pretty words. I think what people need now, more than ever, are truths. Something meaningful.”

“God, you’re gorgeous when you talk like that.”

He can’t help himself then, and he surges up to kiss her.

She’s surprised at first, but soon finds that she doesn’t really mind. She likes knowing he thinks she’s gorgeous and smart. Even though they’re drunk, she knows he means it.

Peggy rolls onto her back to give him better access.

“Tell me more,” she says breathlessly.

“So help me god, I want kids,” he confesses, kissing her again. “I miss holding a tiny creature and knowing I helped create it. I want a little girl that I can raise right, and happy.”

She tries not show that his kind sentiment is breaking her heart, but he catches her anyway.

“You’d be a good mother,” he says, like he knows, as if he were reading her thoughts.

“Fuck me,” she says.

This wasn’t anything close to what she thought she’d be doing or saying, but here she is and here they are. It shouldn’t make sense, but in her alcohol-addled and sleep-deprived mind, this fits. For some reason, the broken pieces fit together, and she wants Roger to help.

“You don’t mean that,” Roger murmurs.

“No, let’s go to Paris. In fact, my passport is in my office. If you fuck me now, by the time we find a house, we’ll know if this worked.”

Without getting up, she hikes her skirt up and shimmies out of her hose and panties. 

“If only you still had those skates on, then you’d be fulfilling a very special fantasy of mine,” Roger jokes before hastily undoing his buckle and fly.

“Maybe in Paris,” she breathes as he leans over her and hikes her legs up around his waist.

He enters her swiftly before either of them realizes that this is terrible idea. Peggy moans loudly when he bottoms out.

“Maybe in Paris,” he agrees before covering her mouth with his.

Somewhere between kissing and thrusting, he remembers to bring a hand down to her center to rub her, trying so hard to get her to come before him. He might have the reputation of a man-slut, but he had a strict ladies-first policy.

When he feels Peggy clench around his cock and moan in deliciously high tones, he knows he can let go too.

“Gonna come,” he moans in her ear. “So beautiful, honey. ‘nna come.”

And with a few erratic thrusts and a grunt, he does, Peggy gripping him tightly between her thighs. They lay there together for a few moments before Roger gently removes himself and rolls off of her. They are both panting heavily, despite that only lasting no more than seven minutes. 

Roger reaches into his jacket pocket and lights a cigarette. 

“Want one?” he asks.

She nods and holds out her hand. The first taste of nicotine immediately calms her down. She’s never felt more sober than in this moment. Everything is so clear now.

“You alright, sweetheart?”

She sits up, smoothing down her skirt. She’ll find her hose and panties later. Roger follows suit.

“I think so. Are you?”

Roger chuckles.

“Are you kidding? That was great. You were great.”

Peggy smiles in spite of herself and shakes her head. She hopes Roger never changes. It would be a shame to see him without his strange, happy-go-lucky attitude.

“Are _we_ alright?” he asks.

“I think so. Or we will be. Someday.”

Roger takes another puff.

“Maybe in Paris?”

“Yeah, Roger. Maybe in Paris.”

Though when she walks into McCann-Erikson the next day, she thinks to herself, _Maybe right now._


End file.
